Stirring the Plot

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  I grinned.

  “What’s so funny?” Cinnamon said.

  “Nothing.” I stifled a giggle.

  She glowered at me, and I knew she knew what I was thinking. She ignored me and peered at the Aunt Teek’s window display. “Hmm. Bingo Bedelia has quite a vivid imagination.”

  Bucky said, “You should see the display at the fire department.”

  “You don’t have a sales window,” Cinnamon said.

  “True, but we have a front lawn. Tombstones, severed heads, blood, guts, and gore. It’s right up there with gross.”

  We all laughed.

  “We’re going to dinner at The Pelican Brief,” Rhett said, revising his earlier statement to my aunt and Greg that we were passing on a meal. “Want to join us?”

  “We’d better not,” Cinnamon said. “It might be considered a conflict of interest if I’m seen dining with Jenna.”

  A frisson of fear shot through me. “Conflict how? You can’t possibly suspect me of—”

  “Not you. Your aunt.”

  “What?” My voice skated up an octave. “You’re kidding.”

  Cinnamon’s face grew grim. “I’m telling you straight. Do you happen to know her alibi for that night?”

  I didn’t. I hadn’t thought to ask.

  Cinnamon said, “A witness saw her in the vicinity of Dr. Thornton’s house around eleven P.M.”

  “No way. Which witness?”

  “I’ve called Vera to ask her in for questioning,” Cinnamon went on, ignoring my question, “but she’s not returning my calls.”

  Had Aunt Vera been dodging Cinnamon? Was the white dress sans turban actually a disguise? I didn’t dare glance in the direction my aunt and Greg had headed. I wasn’t about to turn her over to the police. Not until she was good and ready. Cinnamon Pritchett and her deputies could darned well do the jobs they were paid to do without my help. However, I could still argue on my aunt’s behalf. “Cinnamon, you can’t believe Aunt Vera is a killer. She is the kindest, gentlest human being on the planet.”

  “Everyone is capable of murder if driven to the brink.”

  I drew in a quick spurt of air and blew it out. “I repeat, which witness?”

  Cinnamon screwed up her mouth. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  Man, she could be so exasperating. “I can’t believe you. First, you don’t believe Rhett is innocent.” I motioned to him. “Then me.” For the murder of my friend Desiree. “And now my aunt?” Rhett brushed my arm. I ignored him. “Tell me, why are you so cynical?”

  Cinnamon gawked. “I’m what?”

  “Cynical. Distrustful. Suspicious.” I knew why; it was a low blow on my part, and yet I couldn’t stop the words from spewing out of my mouth. Up until a few moments ago, I had wanted to be Cinnamon’s friend. Now, I wasn’t so sure.

  “Jenna,” Rhett cautioned.

  “No. I’m right and she knows it. This has got to stop. Bullies—”

  “I am not a bully,” Cinnamon said, matching my intensity.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I’m doing my job. In a professional manner. If you hinder my investigation—”

  “Hinder? I would never hinder. I would only help.”

  “I repeat, if you interfere with me or my team in any way, shape, or form, I will arrest you for obstruction so fast your head will spin. Do you hear me?” Her gaze grew dark and foreboding. “Do. You. Hear. Me?”

  Yeah, I did. Loud and clear.

  Chapter 15

  ALL NIGHT LONG, I fretted about my aunt and whether she would return Cinnamon’s calls. Most of Sunday morning, I wondered whether she would be thrown in the clink for insubordination. I hoped not. It was the big day. The Winsome Witches luncheon was scheduled to start at 11:30 A.M. Between 10:00 and 11:00 A.M., I called Aunt Vera several times but got no response. At a quarter past eleven, I put Bailey in charge of The Cookbook Nook, changed clothes, and hurried to Nature’s Retreat.

  The hotel, built in the hills above Crystal Cove and surrounded by gorgeous oaks and other indigenous trees, was the only hotel in town that had a ballroom grand enough to hold over three hundred attendees.

  I entered the ballroom and stared with wonder at the splendor. The room was typically elegant with its natural wood panels and lavish crystal chandeliers, but the Winsome Witches decorating committee had done a number, too. Each of the fifty-plus tables was draped with black cloth and adorned with a dramatically tiered centerpiece. At the base were silver pumpkins and shiny red leaves. Bramble dripped off the tiers. On top of each perched a silver witch hat encircled with more red leaves. A string quartet situated at the far side of the ballroom was playing “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.”

  I noted a number of men in attendance. Tito stood beside the head table with a plump-faced man. Both wore suits; neither wore a witch hat. Tito seemed to be regaling the plump-faced man with a story.

  As I passed near their table, Tito reached out to me. “You look pretty, Jenna.”

  “Thank you.” I had donned a Chanel-style black sheath, gold beads, gold strappy sandals, and the same gold witch hat that I had fashioned for the faire.

  Tito said, “Are you flying solo? No Bailey?”

  “She’s managing the store.”

  “Of course. How is she doing with that boyfriend of hers?”

  I had forgotten that Tito and Bailey had talked at Latte Luck Café a few days ago.

  He added, “Jorge does not appreciate her enough.”

  “How true. They broke up.”

  “Some love is not meant to be. Tell her to wish upon a star.” Tito twirled a finger in the air. “It is good luck and will bring new love into her life.”

  Was everybody in town superstitious? I wondered, then chided myself. Wishing upon a star wasn’t superstition; it was an act of hope.

  “Thanks, I will. Um, forgive me for asking, but why are you here, Tito?”

  “Here? At this table? We”—he gestured to his tablemate—“are guests of Dr. Thornton’s, may she rest in peace.”

  “Were you a patient?”

  Tito guffawed. “Me? Go to a shrink? Never.”

  The plump-faced man grinned. “Tito donates a ton of money to support literacy. The doc loved him.”

  Tito blushed and shrugged. “Kids have to read, no?”

  I looked at Tito curiously. When had he become a nice guy and not the obnoxious braggart I’d taken him for?

  “Jenna, dear, over here.” My aunt, who was dressed in a fitted black gown and a grandiose witch hat brimming with black lace and black ribbon, waved to me.

  The sight of her made my heart light. She was free, not incarcerated. Had she spoken to Cinnamon yet? I bid good-bye to Tito and his friend and hurried to where she stood beside a table with Maya and Emma, also dressed in witch outfits.

  Aunt Vera extended both arms. “Sweet girl.” She pulled me in for a kiss on both cheeks. “Welcome.”

  I whispered, “Did you contact Cinnamon Pritchett?”

  “Whatever for?” she said, matching my hushed tone.

  “She’s been calling you. She thinks you’re a suspect in Pearl’s murder.”

  “Nonsense. She couldn’t possibly.”

  “She does. Someone saw you that night. In the area near Pearl’s house. Does Greg live up there?”

  “Dear, I won’t discuss my personal matters.”

  “But Cinnamon—”

  “Ah, Cinnamon. That girl.” Aunt Vera whistled softly. “Don’t you worry another second. I’ll contact her, okay?” Raising her voice, she added, “Don’t you look lovely?”

  “So do all of you,” I said, following her lead.

  Emma picked at her flouncy frock. “I think this makes me look poofy at the waist, don’t you?”

  Maya said, “Sugar, you look adorable.”
/>   Emma blushed with the praise. “No, you’re the one who looks good. You’re so thin. Have you lost weight?”

  “A little.”

  “And you put on blush,” Emma said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear makeup. It looks good. It gives you a nice glow.”

  “Didn’t you know? I’m hoping to be the next cougar in town.” Maya primped her hair. Emma giggled. Apparently they had made up, the concern about Maya’s lost cat a thing of the past. Maya gestured at the ballroom. “Look at all the handsome warlocks. I must have a shot with at least one of them, don’t y’all think?” She dragged out the last few words in sassy, Southern belle style.

  In addition to Tito and his friend, there were quite a few men in the audience, many of whom were single. A number of them were dressed in warlock costumes complete with purple or black capes; others, like Rhett, wore suits. Rhett was talking to a powerfully built blond man whose hair was secured with a rubber band at the nape of his neck.

  “Emma, isn’t that your husband talking to Rhett?” Maya wiggled a finger to indicate the muscular man.

  “No, that’s not Edward.”

  “Sure it is, sugar. I’d recognize your Nordic god anywhere.”

  Why was Maya being so persistent?

  “It’s not Edward,” I said. “His neck isn’t long enough,” I added, remembering how Rhett had described Edward.

  “Edward wouldn’t step foot in here,” Emma said between clenched teeth. “He won’t have anything to do with this whole witch business.”

  “Why ever not?” Maya asked.

  “Dentists are very practical.”

  Maya snorted. “You call a guy who goes hunting for stalagmites on the weekends practical?”

  “He doesn’t hunt for . . .” Emma blew out an exasperated breath. “He’s an amateur photographer.”

  “I heard he collects rock samples, too. Y’all support his hobby. Why won’t he support yours? Don’t you two have anything in common?”

  Emma’s shoulders sagged.

  Maya must have noticed Emma’s discomfort because she hastened to say, “I’m sorry, sugar. I shouldn’t put you on the spot.” She petted Emma’s arm in condolence. “By the way, Jenna, that Rhett is yummy. I hope you are jumping into the kitchen with him.”

  I gawked. “Jumping into the kitchen?”

  “You know, mixing it up. Cooking up something saucy.”

  Rhett glanced in our direction and winked at me. I felt a rush of desire but squelched it. Not the time, not the place. “Um, we’re taking it slowly.” Last night’s dinner at The Pelican Brief had been easy and unstructured. We didn’t talk about my aunt, or Nature Guy Greg, or the murder. We discussed movies that we liked. I was partial to old-style romance and mysteries; he liked adventures on the high seas. When he dropped me off at the cottage, we kissed on the porch. I could still feel the warmth of his hand cupping my neck.

  “Don’t take it too slowly,” Maya advised. “Keep the heat in the kitchen, if you know what I mean. If you don’t, I might have a mind to steal him away.” She toyed with her hair again. “On the other hand, who is the blond guy he’s talking to? Maybe I should mosey over there.” Maya had been married once; her husband left her ten years ago to pursue his dream, whatever that was. She had dated others in town, but I remembered her telling me that it was hard to make a connection with men who didn’t understand her passion for gardening. “He’s tan. Maybe he likes the outdoors. Wait, he’s turning around. Well, shoot, it’s that nature geek. Greg Something.” Maya snapped her fingers. “What’s his last name, Vera?”

  I got the distinct impression Maya was toying with my aunt.

  “Giuliani,” Aunt Vera said, then deftly switched subjects. “Did any of you see the silent auction baskets? Maya put up a gorgeous offering.”

  Dozens of tables circled the room, each holding a number of items that were up for auction. I had peeked at a few: tours of the town, dinners at restaurants, a sailing outing, and an evening on a murder mystery dinner cruise.

  “Tell them what’s in your basket, Maya,” Aunt Vera prompted.

  “It’s nothing, really.” Maya frittered a hand. “A year of personal service, provided by me, to make sure the garden is growing at its best. Not everyone understands soil and mineral conditions around here. Coastal climes can be tricky.”

  “I’ve made a bid on it,” Aunt Vera said.

  “Why on earth?” Maya raised an eyebrow. “Your garden is lovely, Vera. The azaleas are some of the best specimens in the area.”

  “One can always learn something new.” Aunt Vera gestured toward the far end of the room. “There’s also going to be a live auction. Two levels. First, see those items over there? Home Sweet Home is giving away a basket filled with candles and handblown Christmas ornaments—they’re stunning—and Play Room Toy Store has offered up a Christmas stocking filled with heirloom toys. There are even a number of book offerings; the theme for the auction, after all, is Reading Can Be Magical. For the final segment of the auction, we have two stunning donations: four nights at the Bellagio in Las Vegas, including airfare, and tickets to a celebrity car race with an opportunity to meet some stars. Isn’t this fun? Oh, look, there’s Bingo.” Aunt Vera waved and beckoned. “Bingo dear, over here.”

  I gulped when I saw Bingo Bedelia, the Winsome Witches’ new High Priestess, waltzing toward us in what had to be her take on Glinda the Good Witch. Her white silk dress nearly glistened in the glow of light from the chandeliers. The chiffon overskirt floated an inch above the ground. She carried a glittery wand that matched her white witch hat. She seemed to be granting wishes to guests as she moved. I flashed on the display window at Aunt Teek’s. Had Bingo fashioned the white witch in the display to represent herself? Was she afraid of a black witch?

  Jenna, get real. Why was I conjuring up such peculiar theories? It was a window display. End of story.

  “Wow, Bingo,” my aunt said. “You put the rest of us to shame.”

  “No one said we had to wear funereal black.” Bingo flinched the moment the words left her mouth. So did everyone else. Talk about awkward.

  Aunt Vera petted Bingo’s shoulder. “A little gallows humor. Too-ra-loo. Pearl would have howled, wouldn’t she, ladies? C’mon, Bingo, show off your dress.”

  Bingo pinched her skirt on either side and did a twirl.

  “You look like Glinda,” Emma said.

  Bingo raised an eyebrow. “Glinda?”

  “From The Wizard of Oz,” Emma responded.

  Bingo shook her head. “I’ve never seen it.”

  “What?” all of us nearly shouted.

  Aunt Vera said, “You’ve never seen the movie The Wizard of Oz? Haven’t you read the book?”

  “I led a sheltered childhood,” Bingo said, then swatted my aunt’s arm. “Of course I’ve read it, you gooses. I’m putting you on. I’ve seen the movie at least a dozen times. Pearl would say—” Her eyes grew moist. She started again. “Pearl might not be here, but she is in spirit, and she would say—” She couldn’t finish. She waved the wand as if to orchestrate a new conversation. “Pearl would have loved the whole thing. The hats, the décor, the energy.” She raised her wand as if proposing a toast. “To Pearl.”

  We each mimed hoisting a glass. “To Pearl.”

  Maya said, “Poor thing. What do y’all think happened? Are the police doing everything they can to find the killer?”

  Suddenly, I realized this was first time the group had convened since they had found Pearl’s body. “Yes,” I said. “Chief Pritchett knows the means. Now, she has to figure out the motive.”

  “What was the means?” Aunt Vera asked.

  “Poison,” Emma chimed in. “Someone used a hypodermic needle.”

  Maya moaned. So did Bingo.

  “Emma, let’s keep that to ourselves,” I cautioned. “I’m sure the police don�
��t want that getting around.”

  “She died between ten and midnight,” Emma added, not heeding my warning. “The police are establishing alibis. I’ve given them mine, and it’s been corroborated.”

  It was iffy, I mused, but I didn’t say so out loud. Pepper Pritchett, who was also at the banquet and looking surprisingly sporty in a cocktail dress and cloche-style witch hat, stood nearby. Without a doubt, she would take me on if she heard me refute her as a witness. Who needed the aggravation?

  “What’s your alibi, Bingo?” Maya asked.

  Bingo blanched and put her hand to her chest. “You couldn’t think that I—”

  “No, silly,” Maya said, “but the police are bound to ask. They asked me. I was home in bed reading a lovely culinary mystery set in the White House. Jenna turned me on to the series. You know the one I mean, with the chef.”

  Bingo set her wand on the table. “I was doing bookkeeping at the shop.”

  Aunt Vera threw her a skeptical look. “You were? I don’t remember seeing lights on when I drove past.”

  “What were you doing out and about?” Maya asked.

  “We were—” My aunt paled, as if she hadn’t meant to offer that much information. “I had to make a grocery run.”

  Maya raised an eyebrow. “You said we, sugar.”

  “I meant I had to make a grocery run.” Aunt Vera twisted a strand of hair at the nape of her neck. “I”—she stressed the singularity of the word a second time—“was out of milk. I can’t stand dry cereal in the morning.”

  “No, no, no, Vera Hart.” Maya waggled a finger. “You can’t slip out of this one. You said we.”

  “This discussion is over.” My aunt straightened her spine.

  “Hmpf.” Maya’s mouth twisted with frustration. She got the message; Aunt Vera was not going to answer.

  Maya returned to the subject of gardening. The others joined in, arguing the wonders of herbs.

  I nudged my aunt to the side and whispered into her ear. “Were you with Greg that night?”

  “I already told you, I won’t discuss personal matters.”